


Good Girls Don't...

by AraSigyrn



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Always-a-girl!Stiles, Community: kink_bingo, F/F, Genderswap, Pervertibles, murky consent, werewolf!Lydia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-14
Updated: 2012-09-14
Packaged: 2017-11-14 05:53:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/512021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AraSigyrn/pseuds/AraSigyrn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles doesn't do anything quietly.  Lydia doesn't do anything halfway.</p>
<p>AU- always-a-cis-girl!Stiles and Werewolf-Lydia.</p>
<p>Written for the 'pervertibles' square on my kink bingo card.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good Girls Don't...

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to deannawol for beta and butt-kicking. ♥

Stiles doesn't do anything quietly. It's kind of her thing. Stiles the loudmouth.

She especially isn't quiet about her feelings so, yeah, Lydia knew about Stiles' epic crush and she's known forever. Lydia's mostly ignored it; she has Jackson and her place in the claustrophobic hierarchy and the highest grades (when Stiles doesn't) and she's good. She's fucking awesome, actually. She doesn't need anything from a loser like Stiles. What happens during their study sessions isn't serious. The werewolf thing has set her back a little, Lydia admits and learning control had been a bitch but she's handling it.

Besides this is about Stiles and her inability to be quiet.

Stiles doesn't even mean to be loud but she has this breathless momentum when she starts to make noise that is nearly unstoppable. When she's excited, the whole world knows it. She fills the space around her with noise just by existing. It had nearly driven Lydia wild during the first month after her first transformation. Stiles had been so loud, so inescapable that Lydia thinks the wolf would have demanded she do something even if they hadn't already had their little arrangement.

Danny, who is so much smarter than the meat-heads he surrounds himself with, calls Stiles an over-sensitive telegraph receiver, permanently wired into what she sees and feels. Stiles is literally incapable of being quiet. So Lydia's had to be creative but that's okay. Lydia can do creative like Stiles can't do subtle.

"Really," she says idly. "You should be grateful."

Stiles makes a muffled sound and Lydia runs her nails lightly down the soft swell of Stiles' belly. Even gagged with the 'official' lacrosse wool scarf Jackson had bought for Lydia, Stiles can make so much noise. Lydia presses her nails a little harder and Stiles kicks her feet against the cushions at the bottom of the bed. If she was still using rolled up old t-shirts as rope, Lydia might worry but the scarves holding Stiles' wrists and ankles are Lydia's mom's from last season. They're probably more expensive than Stiles' entire wardrobe and something about that thought makes Lydia purr to herself.

As an added bonus, the scarves are silk and Stiles makes the most delicious sounds as she writhes on the bed. She rolls her wrists and moans in her throat as the knots tighten. They make her 'tingly', Stiles says when Lydia asks. Werewolf senses let her hear the shame and lust underneath the awkward words and Lydia had taken every single scarf that her mom didn't use from her wardrobe the next day.

Two days before full moon, Lydia made Stiles come by threading the gold-and-lace Louis Vuitton through the apex of Stiles' tied legs and pulling it slowly through. The lace had scratched her inner thighs and the scarf was soaked through before Lydia let her rest, gasping and fucked out. The memory of Stiles in school the morning after, wriggling around in a vain effort to find a way of sitting that didn't press the seams of her jeans against her tender inner thighs is one that Lydia treasures to this day.

Stiles stills as Lydia lifts her hands away - one of the first things Lydia learned about Stiles like this is how very much Stiles hates not being touched. Lydia reaches for the two pens on the desk and the rubber band. Stiles doesn't have big tits but Lydia kinda envies the hell out of her nipples. It's totally selfish but given how wet Stiles gets at the slightest contact, Lydia doesn't mind.

She takes an ice-cube out of the glass on the desk and slips it between the pens, twisting a hair-tie neatly around both ends to hold it in place. Then she deftly catches Stiles' nipple between the two pens and twists another elastic band around the other end. It isn't even squeezing hard yet but Stiles nearly screams. Her nipples are a hot button and Stiles is a slut for anyone who mauls her tits. If Lydia sat back and just let the ice-cube melt, Stiles will come from it; just from the inexorable tightening pressure and the icy chill. She'll scream as loud as the gag allows. It makes Lydia smile; back when Lydia was just crazy-smart and beautiful, she'd worried that she was hurting Stiles when she pinched her tits that first time. She'd never dared do it again.

Now, she can smell the heavy wet scent of Stiles' arousal - so thick that Lydia can practically taste it. Stiles' nipple is darkening to an angry red already and Lydia cups her other breast, not at all surprised to see the untouched nipple puckered and stiff. She blows lightly at the makeshift clamp, where the first freezing drop of water has raised tiny goosebumps, and Stiles' scent thickens as she moans, rucking up against the barely-there pressure. Lydia's fangs press lightly against her lower lip as she breathes in and her fingernails shift to claws, drawing delicate red lines along Stiles' pale skin and Stiles moans.

"We'll just leave that there," Lydia says sweetly. "Tell me if it hurts too bad and I might take it off." 

Stiles is keening through her mouthful of wool and Lydia relaxes enough that the hand that picks up the metal whisk is wholly human. She takes two ice-cubes from the glass and fits them through the aluminum tines. She rolls the handle in her grip, confident that Stiles won't hear the click of ice over her needy moaning.

Stiles has her hips angled up, back arced and Lydia presses the chilled whisk into the soft, pudgy curve under her armpit. Stiles yelps, twisting and thrashing but Lydia just rolls the handle, letting the ice tumble against the flushed skin under Stiles' breast. Stiles is wriggling and squirming and the whole room is full of the cloying, intoxicating stink of her arousal. Lydia presses her thighs together and licks her lips as Stiles strains against the scarves.

"Naughty girl," Lydia says calmly and she lifts the whisk away.

Stiles collapses back on the bed, toes flexing against the cushions. Lydia gives her just long enough to breathe in before she flicks the tighter end of the clamp and Stiles yowls, head thrown back and back arcing into a perfectly submissive curve that makes Lydia want to bite her neck bloody and fit all four fingers into Stiles' too-tight hole. She's going to do at least one of those before the night is over and it doesn't matter how much noise Stiles makes; her parents are out of town and the Sheriff has already given his blessing for Stiles to stay the night. Lydia has needed _so much_ help with her Chemistry.

Lydia lifts the whisk again but this time she presses it between Stiles' legs, where she's hot and wet and open.

"So," Lydia says, feeling the fangs curve down over her lower teeth. "Jackson saw you with Derek today..."


End file.
